Sutton's Choice (Hudson Boys Book 1)

by C. A. Harms

  Copyright © 2021 by Author C. A. Harms

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and other elements portrayed herein are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons or events is coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, storied in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior permission of the author. If you should do so, legal action may be taken to protect the author and their work

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Epilogue

  Also by C. A. Harms

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Sutton

  * * *

  First impressions can go one of two ways. You either love the person or hate them. You either click or clash.

  In this case, I love him; we most definitely click, just not the way he wanted me to.

  * * *

  A very tall and attractive guy leans in closer in order to hear over the music playing loudly throughout the bar. “What’s your name?” He smells nice, and his hair tickles my cheek from his closeness. His smile is mischievous as he flashes a dimple I’m sure has worked in his favor in the past. He has a flirtatious, carefree kind of way about him that I find charming and oddly comforting.

  He seems harmless.

  “Sutton,” I’ve already consumed way too much alcohol since the night began. But tonight is about celebrating my twenty-first birthday with the best of friends, so I have the right to be a little less controlled than my normal, follow the rules way of life.

  “Bennett,” he points to his chest and yet again flashes a charming southern boy smile that should make my knees weak, but I seem immune to his charms. Don’t get me wrong, he is adorable, but he doesn’t make my heart race, or my knees feel like they could buckle. “You here celebrating?”

  “Today is my twenty-first birthday,” I grin, knowing I probably look like a crazed chick with smeared mascara and messy hair. We’ve been dancing for hours, so my once curled hair is now flat, and not once have I attempted to touch up my makeup. I’ve been having entirely too much fun and tonight isn’t about meeting a guy. It’s about having a good time with my girls.

  “Well, Happy Birthday Sutton,” he leans back against the bar and looks over his shoulder at a few other guys standing behind him before redirecting his attention back at me. “Can I buy you a drink?”

  “I’m good,” I say, holding up my bottle of water, and he arches his brow. “I’ve been drinking since six p.m., and I have to work tomorrow. I figure it’s time to slow down, so I don’t pay dearly for it in the morning.” I’ll already be dragging ass from lack of sleep; there is no reason to add sloshy puke gut to it too. That is my version of nauseousness caused by alcohol.

  Ugh, that feeling alone made me less likely to drink until I couldn’t see straight. I’ve always hated the morning after feeling. You can lose an entire day alone from a fun night of drinking with friends.

  He nods, and I can’t help but notice his eyes. He has the prettiest shade of blue eyes I’ve ever seen. Almost like the clearest blue skies on a sunny Alabama day, they are gorgeous and kind.

  “Sutton; come on,” I’m suddenly being tugged on from behind as Adley attempts to drag me toward the dance floor. “It’s time to dance, woman; we are supposed to be celebrating. Stop flirting with boys,” I want to smack at her to shut her up. I am not flirting.

  Stumbling a little bit, I do my very best not to fall on my face and glance back at Bennett. He leans a little to look behind me; I’m sure trying to figure out what’s happening—that or to check out Adley, who knows.

  “Do you dance?” I holler over the music.

  I half expect him to panic and back away. It’s hard to find guys that will dance unless they think they may get lucky. But when he places his beer on the bar top and comes closer, it surprises me. His confidence is refreshing. “Do I dance?” He chuckles as if that is the most ridiculous question he has ever been asked. Grabbing my free hand, he leads me to the dance floor, and I watch in amazement as Bennett starts moving to the music.

  And when I say he moves, I should say he gyrates to the beat, his hips shifting in a sinful way that has many of the ladies staring. The guy can dance; I’ll give him that.

  He eats up the attention of the girls, they love him, and he doesn’t shy away from being the center of attention. He is adorable, really, and I will admit his confidence does make me wish I was attracted to him. That dimple in his cheek alone makes me want to throw caution to the wind and be a little unpredictable.

  But I’ve never been the kind of girl to live life without a plan or at least considering the consequences every action I make could lead to.

  He manages to make us all laugh, continuing to be silly, and not once does he make any of us feel uncomfortable. You’d never guess that we’ve only known him a few hours. He fits right in and doesn’t falter once when the girls get a little wild. Frankly, I think he loves all the attention. It’s nice to enjoy ourselves without feeling like he is only trying to take one of us home.

  Soon his friends join us, and we all dance in one large circle like we’ve been friends for years.

  Bennett has a great sense of humor, he’s sweet, fun, and I have no doubt he and I will be great friends. He is the kinda guy that makes any night a good one.

  Chapter One

  Sutton - Over a Year Later

  * * *

  I stand at the register, looking at my watch, hoping that I'm not too late for class. The attendant behind the counter is taking her sweet ole time and pay at the pump is apparently down at the moment. It's my own fault, really. I should have left home earlier than I had, but nothing has been going right for me today. My hair wouldn't cooperate, the coffee pot took a crap, and I couldn't find my keys for more than twenty minutes. Somehow, they ended up under the couch, which I'm still stumped about.

  I try to fight the urge to look at my watch for the third time since I stepped inside the gas station. I'm beyond annoyed as th
e attendant taps on the screen with one finger. Smiling, she continues to look over my shoulder as if she is flirting with someone, and I glance down, rolling my eyes at her less than discreet neediness, truly what a mess my morning has become.

  "Thirty-two, twelve," she says before scanning my card and holding it securely in her hand while waiting for the register to catch up. Once again, she looks behind me. Now I'm starting to get pissy. "Would you like a receipt?"

  "I'm good thanks," she stares at me as if she is still waiting for my answer. "No receipt, just the card." I point to my charge card she still holds, and it's like something clicks in her pea size brain.

  "Oh," she giggles like a schoolgirl, and I bite the inside of my cheek to hold back my snarky comment.

  Someone chuckles behind me, and it all then makes perfect sense. She's been more occupied with the male behind me rather than the current transaction. I make a mental note to check my account when I get to work; thirty-two can easily be entered as eighty-two when you are sidetracked.

  Taking my card from her, I spin around and immediately find myself face to chest with a massive man. I am only shoulder height to him, and he doesn't budge.

  Slowly I lift my gaze and find a piercing set of blue eyes staring back at me. Mostly hidden by the brim of a hat, but when his mouth stretches out in a smile, I feel like my entire body wobbles just a bit. One very prominent dimple in his left cheek. The stubble along his jawline that I want more than anything to reach out and drag my finger over.

  I curl my fingers around my car keys a little tighter to occupy my urge.

  He is mysterious and oh so sexy, strong, and confident. Some imaginary pull tugs at something low in my belly, and I find it strange that I can be so affected by a complete stranger.

  "Sorry," my words are nothing more than a whisper, and I'm truly unsure of what exactly I'm apologizing for. Staring, panting, imagining what he looks like naked, what?

  "No need to be sorry," his voice is deep, soothing, and a bit husky, but extremely appealing. I'm talking panty-melting; take me right here on this nasty dirty floor kind of hot. The way his lip curls up on the side makes him seem sinful, and it sends a thrill through my entire body from head to toe.

  I slip past him, and when I reach the front door, I take a chance and glance back, hoping to get a backside view of the alluring man. Only he is watching me, and once again, my entire body feels like it comes alive. I smile, feeling turned on and embarrassed all at the same time. I've been caught checking him out. I'm no different than the girl behind the counter.

  I hurry to my car, doing my very best not to fall flat on my face. My hands shake as I squeeze the steering wheel and pull out of the gas station parking lot. Maybe running late isn't such a bad thing after all. Had I been on time, I would have missed that man, and that would have been a shame.

  Though my day started out in a rush, followed by an incredible boost of manly hotness, I am quickly calmed when I make it to the studio, and my classes begin. I can always find peace in teaching. It has always been the one place that can settle me.

  "Point your toe Sarah," I stand at the young girl's side and demonstrate. "Shoulders back, stomach tight," she does just as I say, looking up at me for approval. I adore this class; it's one of my favorites. Sweet little four and five-year-old’s are always so much fun to teach. Wearing their little pink ballet wrap skirt and their hair all tied up in a ballet bun. Not many can say they love their job, but I will admit, I look forward to coming to work each day.

  "That's perfect," I assure her, and the smile on her face lights up my afternoon.

  Continuing to move down the line, I often pause to direct the children when I see the need for guidance. Soaking up the happiness in their eyes when I tell them how amazing they are doing makes it all worth it.

  Dance has always been my absolute most favorite thing to do. I've been in classes since I was big enough to walk. So naturally, it's the career path I've chosen, and now I'm teaching others. Ballet, Jazz, and Modern Dance classes four days a week, and on Sundays, I volunteer at the local teen center where I share my skills with those kids, that may not have the opportunity to participate in the various programs I teach at Miffy's Dance Studio in Montgomery.

  It's the smiles and the joy in their eyes when they've nailed a certain move that honestly is the greatest part about teaching. One day I hope to start my own studio, but those dreams are far off in the future.

  The music stops, and I pause at the front of the class, with my hands on my hips. Each little face is looking up at me, searching for the last ounce of praise they can gain prior to dismissal. Eager little faces, hopeful eyes, honestly, my chest swells from all the adorableness.

  "Great job today, all of you," their grins grow so big, and a few little girls shuffle their feet happily in a celebratory dance. "I'm very proud of you all, and the determination you each have to get each move precise makes me so happy. Practice your Arabesque's, and next week we will begin learning our routine for this year's upcoming recital."

  And as if on cue, the door opens, and in walks the mothers and fathers that are here to pick up the little people.

  "Have a great weekend, everybody." The chaos of tiny humans begins as each one of them takes off in search of their parents. I hear the happy squeals as they share their excitement about today and about the yearly recital that the studio puts on.

  I have four classes, four different levels, which means I have four separate routines I'm responsible for. Overwhelming, yes, but I love to choreograph and create the perfect mixture of all the skills my students have learned.

  I wave to a few of the parents as they duck out of the class and begin walking around the room to tidy up. With my back to the door, I don't notice that I am no longer alone until I hear the huskiness of Bennett's voice from behind me. "Love the tutu, Tink."

  Spinning around, I narrow my eyes at him, and he chuckles. He never misses the opportunity to tease me. The truth is I'm not wearing a tutu, but more of a wrap skirt that covers my leotard and tights. He just likes to torment me.

  Just as I knew we would be, Bennett and I have been friends since the night I met him while the girls and I were out celebrating my twenty-first birthday. Sometimes he gives me the vibe that maybe he wants us to be more, but then he floats off to the friend zone, which I am perfectly fine with. Then again, he also gives off that same vibe to all the other girls, so I figure it's just because he is such a huge flirt. I think it's hard for him not to flirt with any female, myself included. I don't feel that way about him. Don't get me wrong, Bennett is very attractive, he has killer eyes and a drop you to your knees smile, but I don't experience that connection I strive for in a man. That heat that makes your body hum from head to toe and sends your pulse into overdrive with the mere thought of his lips on yours. I don't even get even a spark in his presence. Bennett, to me, feels like an older brother I never had. We go fishing, drink beers and eat pizza while watching a movie in our lounge clothes. We laugh, we talk about the craziest things, and I don't feel like I have to be someone else when I'm with him. He accepts me, just as I am.

  He has become one of my best friends, and I'm grateful to have met him.

  I love our comfortable bubble, the one where I don't have to worry if I'm wearing my ratty clothes and my hair is way past the point of needing a good wash. He's one of my girls, just the male version. It makes me smile as I think of what he'd say if I told him he is like the girls. He'd be horrified.

  "You wearing that tonight?" He tries to hide his smirk, and I cross my arms over my chest, still not giving him the satisfaction of biting back. He strives to get a rise out of me; I learned fast that giving him what he wants only feeds his need to dig more and more. "We could get you a wand and a bag of glitter. You can dance around the bar pretending to be Tinker Bell. I'm sure all the drunks would get a kick out of that."

  "Are you done?"

  "Not even close, sweetheart," his chest vibrates with laughter, and I grab the first
thing I can get my hands on and toss it in his direction. The frilly material flutters through the air before falling to the floor halfway between him and I.

  An epic fail on my part, only giving him more ammunition.

  His laughter echoes over the room, and I immediately charge him as he backs up with his hands up in front of him to block me. “Okay… Okay, Uncle," he says as he tries to stop laughing. "Come on, Tink." I get a blow in and connect with his stomach, and he makes a humph sound. I know he is exaggerating because my hand is the only thing that gets hurt while connecting with his hardened abs. Bennett works construction, and the manual labor keeps him in great shape. He is solid muscle, and he is also more than twice my size. So, one punch from a girl my size does nothing.

  "I said Uncle," he complains when I get a grip on his side and twist. It's the only place I can ever gain the upper hand. He shifts away quickly. "Damn woman, you’re feisty."

  "And you're a bully." He is also harmless and loves to taunt any of us girls as often as possible. It's just another thing that gives away that big brother vibe, the constant hassling whenever he gets the chance.